


[no] mercy

by kissandtell



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Cannibalism, Drugs, Gross, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissandtell/pseuds/kissandtell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the walrider might not be able to talk but by god can it<br/>s c r e a m</p>
            </blockquote>





	[no] mercy

I'd made it out. I wasn't exactly alive, but I'd made it out.

 

It was actually a blur, how I'd left. Whenever I tried to remember, the static would flare up and I'd be cast to my knees, nose threatening to bleed and eyes threatening to burst. There was pressure from inside of me, enough to give me cause to worry. If I pissed it off too much, I knew I'd find myself in the same consistency Chris Walker ended up in.

But I had a little faith. It wouldn't kill the host, right?

 

Still, I wasn't in the mood to test it.

 

Somehow, I'd stumbled away, bleeding black from every orifice, but the first thing I was conscious of was vomiting tar into the ditch next to a gas station and the man filling up his 4x4 was leaning over, yelling something that the static blocked out.

 

But the buzzing finally decided to recede and the ringing in my ears faded. My hands flew to my aching head first and I caught my balance, wiping my mouth on my filthy sleeve and spitting. My whole body ached - _hadn't I broken my legs or something?_ \- but I seemed to be alive.

 

"Hey, pal, are you okay?" the guy was yelling again, walking towards where I was crouched. "You need me to call an ambulance or something?"

 

I whirled around, sending him jerking back in surprise. I guess I wasn't looking so good, still beat all to hell, and when I tried to speak, nothing more than a strangled hiss fell from my lips. I cleared my throat and tired again, "No-no thank you, I-I'm fine."

 

He didn't seem convinced. "You're sure?"

 

My lips were drawn tight as my mind spun again. I was about to affirm him when I reconsidered, "But I... I could use a drive into town..."

 

"Oh," his expression softened and the fear from before faded as a little more of my humanity returned. "Where ya headed?"

 

"Anywhere that's not here," I was honest. I needed to find a computer, or a phone or some way I could get back to my life.

 

"Tell you what, I can take ya as far as Denver," he offered.

 

"Denver would be fantastic," I spoke hollowly, feeling ill again.

 

"Just give me a second to finish up, we'll leave in a minute." To my surprise, he offered me his hand, and I took it as he helped me to my feet. As he went back to his pick-up, I popped into the convenience store, penniless, but ducking into the men's room, I was able to see myself for the first time in a while.

 

My face was bloodied beyond recognition - it was a feat this stranger had offered to help me, dried red was caked over my forehead, trickling out of my nose and the corners of my mouth. My hands ached, total finger count lacking but buzzing with a new energy. Things that I knew I'd broken felt fine, but I tried not to worry about it too much. I wiped off my face-hands-body with a dampened paper towel, trying to draw out blood but there was so much, _too_ much really... How was I still alive?

 

Someone was knocking at the door and I called back tiredly, "Just a second," leaning forwards and rubbing my fingers over the scattered wounds in my forehead. My gaze darted to my eyes and I squinted, unsure of what I was seeing.

 

The brown looked... _fogged over._..

 

I leapt back, losing my balance and gripping the sink as the glass of the mirror shattered before me, of its own will, all radiating out right from the eye I was scrutinizing. My face was split horrifically in the shards of glass, and I swear I watched my lips curl up in one refracted image.

 

I spun back and returned to where the stranger from earlier was waiting in the truck. Thankfully, he wasn't much of a talker - neither was I, unless I had to. After the necessary _boy you sure look like shit,_ he seemed content just to drive. I knew it was going to be a long journey - it had taken me two hours the night before to drive up this godforsaken mountain. Was it even the night before? The sun was high in the sky now, but how long had passed? Everything since I'd been in the Male Ward was an aching blur, tossing around in my subconscious. I wasn't going to bring it up now.

 

I wished he'd put on the radio or something; the silence that ensued was unsettling. The ringing was back in my ears, I could hear something in my inner canal, nibbling-biting-chewing on the edges of my brain _just_ enough to be maddening. It was like a whisper that was a little too soft, and a little too ambiguous.

 

The murmurs grew louder but I still could grasp no words - it felt like I'd been struck too hard in the head with something. My eyes swam and I felt something shift inside me, a hideous serpent coiling within my ribcage. I covered my mouth as nausea rose within me again and the whirring was back, full force. I coughed hard into my sleeve, and pulled it back to find black, blood black spilling over me. I choked a swear as I felt my nose start to bleed, forcing a, "Can you pull over?"

 

Thankfully, my driver stopped the truck and I was back in the ditch, this time with tar leaking from every opening in my face - mouth, nose, eyes, ears. It was **screaming** inside my head, tearing me apart from the inside out. I was going to die here.

 

But just like that, It stopped.

 

All the black was gone, I was crouched on the side of the road, perfectly clean. It was toying with me, seeing how much it would take before I cracked. Driving me mad. It needed me to be mad.

 

I wasn't going to give up that easy.

 

I got back in the car and the driver at least had the sense to look concerned, but I just redid the seatbelt and set my jaw, pushing beyond the metal grating inside my ears. "Just keep driving," was my only instruction.

 

I think we traveled a little faster after that.

 

By the time he dropped me in downtown Denver, I'd came to the conclusion that I had died. It shouldn't have taken me that long, but I didn't want to be hasty. I'd kept my hand pressed hard under my jacket for ten long minutes, waiting for a pulse, and it didn't come. I had no vital signs, but something was still controlling my organs. Was I just a puppet on a string, was the Walrider maintaining me in some sort of limbo?

 

I was scared. I didn't want to die.

 

Somehow I found my way back to my apartment, and now that I was alone, the Walrider was rearing It's ugly head again. I felt faint, my legs didn't work right anymore. I knew that the spare key was hidden on top of the doorframe, I knew that the lock stuck, I knew that it would probably be cold because I always left a window open when I went out.

 

What I didn't know was everything else.

 

It was uncomfortably quiet as I closed the door behind me. The complete lack of sound. I was deaf. I was deaf except for the tick_tick_tick_tick of the clock over on my far wall.

I was waiting for It to do something

But

It

_wasn't_

 

I put my head in both hands. There was nothing to worry about, I was getting myself worked up over nothing, I needed to clean myself up and remember as much as I could, as much as would be necessary to put in my paramount article. I don't give up - it has never been an option.

 

I went to shower.

 

It was a big mistake.

 

It started out fine, hot water brought a bit of feeling back to my death pale body, washing away layer upon layer of grime blood filth and cleaning out wounds. I was infected with something, I knew it; I'd crawled through a river of blood and shit and I wasn't going to make it away dauntless. I needed a doctor.

 

But first I needed to write.

 

But first there were... _bullet holes in me._  


 

It was hard to remember, but I forced it. Ta... _tactical crew,_ that's who had shot me. But there were definitely enough shots to be lethal - and as I thought this through, the scabs were peeling back and blood black was covering the floor of the tub, swirling down the drain and smelling like motor oil. Oh god. I tried to cover the now open wound, bleeding out whatever was inside of me. It was chastising me for exploring - It didn't want me to know.

 

I stopped the water and got out.

 

Maybe I was scaring myself for no reason. I considered documents I'd seen - Billy had controlled It when he was the host, hadn't he? So It wasn't suddenly just going to gain sentience purely for the sake of scaring the new guy, right?

 

Stepping back into the living room,

something

was

**wrong**

 

It took me a second to realize that it was more than just the atmosphere. Every picture frame in my apartment was face down - fallen off walls, forward on tables, turned away. I walked over, uprighting the nearest to me. The frame had shattered, broken glass falling out around the portrait of me and Allen. I frowned and put it up again, but less than a second after, something in my head **screamed** and it was down again.

 

This time when I lifted it, Allen's face had three black scratches over top of it.

 

"Okay," I spoke loud enough to address anything in the room, and although I doubted It needed to hear these things out loud, "you can stop now."

 

But instead, It didn't stop. It gave this horrible metal mockery of a laugh, for Christ's sake, and the TV flicked on at its loudest volume. I gasped and grabbed the remote, muting it before shutting off the screen. Oh, the Walrider thought It was _too fucking funny_ for me, playing these games. I wouldn't let It scare me - It couldn't hurt me now.

 

As I turned around, the mirror showed something pitch black behind me. I spun to find It, but there was nothing, and looking back to the mirror, It was gone again. I stepped back cautiously

and hit into something.

_It was behind me._

 

I swung around, letting It fill my line of sight. It had changed from how I'd view it before - less foggy, more defined, but Its form had holes. Naked sinews and muscles and just empty skeleton in some places. It wasn't shy. It was right up in my face

in

my

face

**hissing**

And just like that, It was gone again.

 

I was losing my grip on things; I didn't feel alive. I wasn't going to let it win because that's not who I am, I needed to cope, what was I going to do?

 

I reached for the phone.

 

"Hello?" he said.

 

"Allen, can you come over?" I said, but no sound came out.

 

"Hello, is anyone there?" he said again.

 

"Yes, Miles, I - ," I tried, but this time instead of words, a horrible screeching of metal on metal rocked back through the receiver to me. I lowered it, finding the Walrider in the mirror again, staring at me with those firey white eyes, lifting one hand and _stroking_ the glass, cocking its head. I furrowed my brow and told It to fuck off, to which It whined back at me and evaporated in layers, peeling away to nothingness.

 

Now I was able to speak. "Sorry, Allen, it's Miles, can you - "

 

He interrupted me, "Christ almighty, what the fuck was that?"

 

I sighed. "... Technical difficulties. Look, can you just come over right now? I-I need someone."

 

"Jesus, Miles, I'm at work, you know," he lilted. "I can come by at lunch if you want, but I can't just drop everything - "

 

"No, you don't understand," I had my eyes locked on the mirror, waiting for any sign that It was coming back. "You need to come by _now._ I don't feel - _safe._ P - please, Allen, I've never been more serious before, I just - "

 

"Fine," he gave in. "Fine, I'll come over. Give me ten minutes."

 

"Thank you," I breathlessly said. "Okay. See you then."

 

But ten minutes felt like too much.

 

I spent the time in stasis, lying on my bed, trying to feel whatever was within me, trying to figure out where It lived. When I focused on It, I could feel Its vibrations in more pronounced areas: behind my eyes and all under my skull, down the back of my neck and following the curve of my spine, then spidering out around my ribcage. It was wearing me, just waiting to take control.

 

I didn't like that.

 

The knock at my door couldn't have come soon enough. I was up in a second, opening the door, just happy to see a familiar face. "Allen, thank god, thank god," I didn't notice before this that I was shaking - I hadn't eaten in a long time, I hadn't slept in longer, the infection could've set in.

 

Seeing him smile returned a bit of warmth to my hollow body. He shook his head, stepping in and taking off his coat. "Christ, you're pale as death. Are you well?"

 

I couldn't meet his eyes, I knew he would notice the difference. He couldn't know how bad things really were. I didn't care if I was using him, I just needed something to make me feel normal again. I kept looking at the ground: "I... I'm fine. Come in, please."

 

He frowned a little. "Stop acting so fucking strange, love. If something's the matter, you can tell me."

 

I paused, trying to force myself to breathe. It wasn't like I needed it anymore, but it helped maintain the façade. "... Last night's investigation didn't go so well. I don't want to be alone."

 

Finally, he cracked a grin. "Miles, I've told you a billion times, if you're not careful, something like this is gonna end up happening to you."

 

"I... I know," I tried to joke it off, tried to force a smile. "Come on. Let's lie down."

 

The first thing I did was pour us drinks - the strongest liquor I had in my house. I took a long swig straight from the bottle before bringing the two (large) glasses to where my boyfriend sat. Allen and I hadn't been together for too long - maybe... four or five months? We were both gruff kind of guys that kept emotion hidden, and that's what made it easier to pretend everything was fine. Still, the companionship was nice, and the sex was good.

 

That's all that really matters.

 

He cocked an eyebrow when I served our drinks. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

 

I was trying to get myself drunk. Maybe that way I could put the Walrider at the back of my mind. I drained my glass in two slugs and relished in the burn down my throat. "Maybe," I tried to be teasing but just ended up sounding hoarse. "Come on, kiss me or something..."

 

Thankfully, Allen was able to ignore my sudden shamelessness and complied, leaning over and taking my head in his hands. But before our lips could touch, that goddamn nanocloud fucker flicked on the TV again, and the radio and the desktop computer, all full volume. He jerked back, and I did too (to a lesser extent) before I got up, this time unplugging the TV, muting and shutting off the radio and shutting down my computer.

 

"What the fuck was that?" he sat up and frowned at me.

 

"Power bump," I lied with lips drawn tight. I had to keep from making eye contact with him, I couldn't deny the goddamn cataracts or whatever the Walrider was putting over my irises. There was no excuse I could make for the deformities - my missing fingers, my bullet wounds - so I just had to pray he wouldn't notice. "Let's go to my room."

 

Things weren't too strange for him yet. "Someone's in a bit of a mood, eh?" he teased as I pulled him down the hall to my room by his hand. But I knew he wouldn't stop me. I pushing him back against my door, closing it and kissing him, trying to feel fucking alive again, trying to get still blood to pump through my veins again. While his back was pressed to the door, I slipped one of my hands down to ensure that it was locked.

 

The Walrider wouldn't knock down doors. It didn't have that much power.

 

Oh, Allen, with his broad shoulders and broad hands and soft Irish mannerisms, who I'd only known for five months but would always let me fuck him, no matter what. There we were, on my bed, the alcohol finally starting to hit my system. He was on top of me because he knew that I liked feeling held down, and his hands were on my torso when he told me that I was so cold.

 

  
_Algor mortis._ This was the closest he'd ever get to fucking a corpse, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

 

It was working, though. My body still remembered the right impulses, it found enough energy to sloppily blow Allen before flipping him over and grossly fucking him, lazily, almost, but the feeling of his hot back on my cold front was enough to keep me going.

 

This whole time, the beast inside of me lay pretty much dormant. Of course, It let out one of Its signature roars from within my inner ear as I came, shaking me enough to make me close my eyes, but I don't think It affected Allen.

 

I felt a hundred times better. With him beside me, I could forget all the fucking shit that I knew would be back the second he left. I tried to keep him there, arms wrapped around his waist as we lay, hazy with post-coitus. But he looked over at me, squinting a little and asking, "... Do you hear that?"

 

All I could hear was the swarm's ambiance again, but it was deep within my brain. I shook my head, eyes remaining closed.

 

"Funny, I... I could'a sworn I heard... like, like a bunch of voices or something."

 

A bunch of voices.

 

All **h o w l i n g** on top of one another.

 

It was spreading, oh god, he was probably already infected by now but there wasn't anything I could do. I rolled over, pressing my face into his back. "It was nothing, don't worry about it."

 

He turned onto his stomach, squinting ahead of him, "Fuuuck... I have to go back to work, Miles. I have to go."

 

"Please stay," I spoke softly, rubbing his back. "They don't need you there."

 

"Miles..." he said softly, and when I kept rubbing at him, he turned his head to look at me before sitting up, furrowing his brow, "Christ... what's wrong with your eyes?"

 

He was on to me. What was I supposed to say? "Yeah, it's just a... thing..."

 

"No, shit, you're bleeding," he sat up, reaching for my face. "Get a tissue or something... Jesus..."

 

I got up, half naked, over to the mirror where I squinted at my reflection. The sclera of my right eye was filling with dark blood, and the left was still clouded over with those artificial cataracts. The deep red dripped started dripping out of the inside corner in a way that shouldn't have been possible; I grabbed a Kleenex and held it to it. "What the fuck, what the fuck?!" What was happening now had no reason. What was It trying to do to me?

 

Behind me, Allen was dressing quickly again, running a hand through his hair. "We need to get you to a doctor or something..."

 

"Allen," I turned back, holding the bloody tissue to my eye. "Go back to work." I could feel It resurfacing; the whirring was back, It was stronger than before.

 

"No," now he was straightened up, meeting my gaze with a strength I didn't know he was capable of. "I need to make sure you're alright first."

 

There was a loud crack from the corner behind him and we both turn to find the picture frame off the wall again, the one of us. As he went to pick it up, everything seemed to go silent and I just stood there, quaking from the inside out. As steadily as I could, I forced out, "No. You have to leave."

 

Right as I spoke, something violently thrashed against the bedroom door, split into four defined knocks. I watched him physically pale, tightening his grip on the frame in his hand. "Miles... Miles what's happening...?"

 

I turned slowly towards the door, TV static hissing in my ears. I undid the lock, I opened it slowly...

 

On the other side, there was a crumpled scrap of paper just past the threshold.

 

_**goodbye <3** _

 

"Allen - " I tried again, but by now, he didn't need much persuasion. He pushed past me, shaking his head, "This is too fucking - I can't do this..."

 

I couldn't ask him to anymore - the walrider had gotten a taste, I needed to get him out of here before It took Its toll. "Go, just..."  _goodbye._  


 

But I still walked him to the door, I got him his coat, I told him I'd call him when things were okay.

 

He looked at me with absolute terror, voicelessly whispering, " _There's something on your back."_  


 

I knew what it was.

 

"What the fuck do you want?" I yelled once my apartment was empty, knowing It could hear me. "You think you're funny? Huh? I'm not _fucking_ scared of you, hear me? Come on, show yourself!"

 

It hissed while still invisible, but loud enough that I was bent forwards covering my ears. It was too deep within, grating inside, one of those makes-you-want-to-stab-a-fork-in-your-ear kind of noises. I held my bleeding eye with my hand as I fell to my knees. It wasn't going to give me the satisfaction. It knew what It was doing and

it

liked

it

**liked**

 

"Don't fffh-ucking..." I spun with intense vertigo, too strong, and I pressed all four extremities hard into the ground. Hands aching, knees bruising, pressing myself down with increasing gravity. I could feel It now, like pins and needles but

worse

and deeper

and It was on my back, sinking Its not-teeth into the muscle of my shoulder, using my veins to get into my head, passing vibrations through me in morse code.

 

_**M I N E** _

 

And it brings up black liquid from somewhere inside of me, spilling like oil onto the floor, onto my hands in front of where I've crouched. The static is radio interference - it's processing my brain, piece by piece. It had reached the temporal lobe: language, and was already well on the way to the parietal lobe: movement. It was like wildfire, jumping from neuron to neuron at unprecedented rates. _A real breakthrough, folks!_ And I was hunched-praying-groveling, spilling fluid as the walrider took everything I had to give.

 

But again, just like the first time,

it

_stopped._

 

I didn't trust it. Going from screaming inside me one second and silent the next just wasn't right. The pitch stayed this time, though, staining my floor and leaving an acrid flavor on my tongue. I wiped my mouth thickly on my sleeve, spitting and shakily getting up. I went back to the bedroom, going for my laptop which normally lived on my chest of drawers. But I found it with the top open, already turned on and waiting for me, showing me my email browser. I squinted, grabbing it and sitting back on my bed, running my fingers over the keyboard.

 

And then the emails started coming it.

 

The first was from my editor - Harvey was a prickly guy on his own, but he must've been in one hell of a mood today. And I quote: _Upshur, I've put up with your shit for years but this is the last straw. Good luck finding another editor, asshole._ Before I could figure out what he was talking about, more messages flooded in - cheerful dings ringing through the room. They were from everyone - coworkers, newspapers I'd written for in the past, anyone who I'd ever had contact with.

 

My heart sunk as I saw a message from Time Magazine. I'd thought they would be my big break - once I'd written my article on Mount Massive, I'd promised their associate that they would have first dibs. They'd put everything on hold for me, and I could feel my face visibly pale as I read their words.

 

_Your complete unprofessionalism is a disgrace, and to be frank, any communication with you in the past has been a waste of time. If you think this is some kind of joke, you can take you business elsewhere._

 

I scrolled down to see what they were replying to and felt faint as I saw a video attachment with only two characters in the content.

 

**< 3**

 

I opened the attachment and covered my mouth in horror as I found video footage of my head buried in Allen's lap, his fingers lost in my hair as he mumbled, "Oh Miles, you're so good at that..."

 

Footage recorded from where my laptop sat on my wardrobe.

 

"Okay - " I slammed the lid shut, throwing it back onto my bed and standing up. "Okay, fine! This is fine,  _I don't care,_ great, go ahead!"

 

And all of a sudden It was in my mirror, making the glass vibrate with subsonic moans.

And I went over and grabbed the mirror, squeezing the corners and striking it with my fists until it shattered, glass falling to the floor, cutting my hands and leaving me bleeding to the floor. Just like that, the Walrider was above me, looking down at me from where the wall met the ceiling and then on top of me, forcing me down in a half formed anatomy, naked vocal cords rubbing together and making my ears ring.

 

And _I_ was screaming. I'd forgotten how much power It possessed, but I was fully reminded as my body burned, lifted into the air by an unforeseen force, and I was ripped upwards, turned around and suspended in midair, exorcism-style, before being carried and deposited onto the bed hard.

 

My muscles were suddenly locked, arms bent goddess-style next to my head and legs cramping harder than was healthy. I couldn't move, It had me figured out my now. I was writhing-screaming-crying, and without any hesitation It shredded my clothing, leaving nothing but pieces of confetti around me on the bed. My body shook at the sudden coolness of the room and I couldn't help but flinching away.

 

If It could do that kind of damage on my clothing, I knew It was completely able to for me as well.

 

Just black hands materialized, holding my wrists down, and then another rubbing my cheek and another trailing up the front of my chest, all moving of their own volition, softly, softly, holding back a power that I knew existed. A hideous shudder quaked up my spine as the lowest hand dipped lower.

 

Somehow, It projected punctuation to me

 

_**?** _

 

like It was asking for _permission_ , seeing what I would say. I was shaking, still unable to control my own limbs, but I shook my head, _no no no not okay wrong stop please_  


but instead It Formed fully above me, the hands snaking back into a mockery of human physique. I felt like I was Falling, the bed seemed to drop out from under me but after a second I realized I was in the air again, and It put Its hideous head over my shoulder, vibrating next to me and squeezing my brain from the inside. Then I felt Its hips pressing on mine from above as It flipped me over, shoving me down now onto my stomach and back into the bed

  
_exactly_ in the way It had seen me do to Allen moments before.

 

"Nu-uh - " I stupidly said, shaking my head and trying to lift up my torso with now-working arms but It was on my back, pressing me down into the mattress with an intent that It sent to me through a deep-seeded internal understanding.

 

Sodomy was a crime.

 

And It was going to

_punish me_

 

I don't know how I knew, but I did. Billy had taught It these things. Billy had been religious, hadn't he? Hadn't I read that somewhere and oh I was just dissociating now as something too wriggling-prodding-oozing to be a sex organ pressed at me from behind. My limbs pulsed with energy, muscles feeling too full, loamy, bogged down as It

_entered_

and I was screaming at first from the pain, mind firing random commands <stop> <it hurts> <error> because _It wasn't supposed to hurt the host,_ I was the reason It was still alive or functioning or whatever the fuck It was, and all my clouded mind could tell was that I was bleeding-sweating-secreting from every pore I had.

 

And then I was screaming from pleasure - I don't know what It was doing but it found Its way around my brain and squeezed inhumane amounts of chemicals into me, and I wasn't in control anymore as it pushed me over the edge, slamming into me from behind like a dog in heat.

 

It was only after this first passionate wave passed that I realized I was dripping with cold sweat, shaking and rock hard into the mattress in front of me. The Walrider almost mocked my motions from before, and though I couldn't see It I could _feel it_ thrusting skeletal hips against me, cooing and drooling gasoline onto my back.

 

I knew I was bleeding - the one thing the Walrider seemed to forget was the urgent lack of some sort of lubrication. Every movement Its half solid form made was another stab of pain from behind, worse than I'd had in a long time.

 

And It didn't care. It had seen me survive so much, It would be willing to push my right to the edge again. It wanted to see how far I could bend without breaking.

 

It didn't want me dead. It wanted me _obedient._  


 

Colors erupted under my lids as It tried to keep up with Its own pace, balancing pain and pleasure but Its scale needed to be calibrated because there was either too much of one or the other nonstop - I was either at 0 or 100, nothing in between. It squeezed my balls hard enough to make me hurt from the inside out, crying out as It ravished me from behind.

 

It wanted me to fear my own pleasure - like when a child wouldn't stop fussing around the oven so you shove its hand down on the hot burner. It wanted to form associations: coitus = bad, life should be devout, viz., celibacy.

 

And it was working. I was the one screaming as I came painfully into the bed in front of me for the first of what would be many times.

 

Within a second, It sucked me clean, cleansing every filthy plane of my body. But It wasn't going any easier, even with my limbs sluggish from the sudden climax. It held me down painfully ( _He was on top of me because He knew that I liked feeling held down_ ) and raked Its skeletal fingers down my back, severing skin and making me writhe. I could feel my blood streaking down my sides, hot and thick and onto the sheets, horribly symmetrical, Rorschach tests on top of my bed.

 

And It was there again, flashing superimposed images over my eyes as my ears rang from the pure force of the being on my back. It was fucking me raw, and I was sky-high on the mix of juices being shoved into the small capacity of my mind, conquering brain cells and replacing them with Its own manufactured ones, changing me into what It needed, what It was worked best with while in control.

 

Psychosomatic. _Acting on emotions._ Billy had been angry - justly, but he was only a kid. The Walrider wanted me to control It in the same way he had. It wanted Billy back.

But I couldn't think about approving/denying Its request as It ravaged me from behind, plugging Itself into my spine and taking hold again, lifting my hips into the air before

**slamming**

me down into the mattress hard enough to crush the air out of my lungs, and Its goddamn phallus struck me deep and I was trying to curl in on myself with the pleasure straight from my prostrate but It kept me locked in position, missionary-flat, muscles clenched.

 

And I threw up again, for real this time, with more sour bile and blood and mucus and god, I was feeling weak and ready to pass out purely from the exhaustion. I'd been running on empty for nearly 24 hours and it was finally catching up with me. I fell forward limp, my body finally ready to give up, malnutrition setting in.

 

But the Walrider didn't like a limp plaything. It flipped me over now so my bloody back was pressed into the filthy mattress, still taking me with my hips flipped up in front of me, weak thighs on either edge of Its carriage. Its body stretched down, morphed out of shape / disfigured through the torso, reaching far enough so we could be face to face.

And Its skeletal jaw unhinged and It dripped pitch into my waiting mouth, pumping my stomach full of synthesized nutrients: omega-3 fatty acids, vitamin B6. It was struggling to keep me alive for the second time today. Maybe if I was unconscious, I would be able to control it, like _Billy_ had.

 

But my dignity wasn't broken yet.

 

I gagged on what It was pushing down my throat as Its face pressed against mine, a make-out session with a god, one step closer to becoming divinity clothed in flesh. And boy was I excited to take this thing out for a test drive - _I_ needed to control it, It wasn't going to get the upper hand, I wasn't going to get

  
**pulled** up into the air and even though the Walrider couldn't really talk by god could It **_s c r e a m_ , **and my inner ear ruptured with the absolute pressure and I could feel blood dripping out of both sides, down my jaw and neck and it felt like it was tearing my brain apart.

 

It was willing to tear me apart to get its point across.

 

It broke my pelvis with pure vibrations - a bone saw made of faith and gasoline. I was too full from behind, It split my hips from the inside as whatever was in me grew too far past my breaking point and I was suddenly paralyzed, my spine breaking, my legs falling open and limp. And even more horrifying, I came again, harder and more painfully than the first time, my cock and balls burning from the inside out. It would **rip** them off without hesitation, I knew that, the final, greatest punishment for my sins. Castration. That way, for sure I could never repeat the offence.

 

I only begged that It would have mercy.

 

I was screaming as my back was torn apart, watching my hands turn blue as the blood was drained from them, honest to god _blue_ , remaining fingernails bruised black and veins jutting out in such an ungodly way. My eyes rolled back in my head and everything went white, erupting in visceral displays. I couldn't take anymore; I was beyond a human limit, I had both fallen subject to my appetites and earthly desires, hence degrading myself beyond respect, while also somehow ascended to the level of god, soaring to this God's right hand on high.

 

And suddenly, just like that, I fell back to the bed repaired and It was gone.

 

My heart was pounding and I was still filthy with blood and bile and semen and god knows what else. But I'd been put back together; and the pain was gone but the memories were still there. Pain wasn't supposed to work like an on-off switch - this was the most unnerving part. Because I knew it could easily be gone in a second, it could come back just that fast as well.

 

I rolled off the bed, shaking, naked and bloody - a second birth, in a way - and slid until my back was in the corner. My eyes were locked on the mirror where It still remained, just watching me again, accompanied only by that constant treble hiss of boiling water. I never dealt with fear well, I was always too brash, too bold. I got onto unsteady legs and took a hold of something heavy - a hardcover book) and threw it with all my strength at the wall mirror, shattering It and distorting the divinity with an honest to god _jeer:_  


 

"I'm not fucking _afraid_ of you!"

 

(It wasn't going to kill me, It wouldn't kill the host, _It wouldn't,_ that was my logic)

 

But Its response was to shake me again, from the inside out without any struggle at all, making my body heave and fall and showing me Its power, and when I regained control of my motor skills, there was another _lovely_ little note for me on the floor.

 

_**let's fix that <3** _

 

I didn't know what I was supposed to do anymore. Reading Its almost childish handwriting - sharpie black bold lettering, cheesy emoticons - sent tremors down my spine. What It would do next was a complete mystery, and there was nothing I could do about it.

 

In the eye of the storm, I stumbled across the room, crumpling up Its goddamn love letter to me and tossing it with conviction into the trash bin, pulling on clothes and lighting a cig and smoking it in record time before tossing the smoldering butt into the bin as well. From the drawer in my bedside table I withdrew two of three things I would only ever need in an emergency: a bible, and an unopened bottle of scotch.

 

But then I was doubled over with no warning again, searing pain on my back and there was fluid rushing over me. Blood. It was blood. The Walrider, still vanished from my line of sight, bleeding me from behind.

 

Billy had had wounds like these, didn't he? The gospel was dead, my ears rang and I could hear Father Martin's voice like a dream, like a memory, like a projection: _put your trust in our lord._  


 

I pulled up my new shirt, already bloodied again, looking in the mirror to find reversed script carved across my spine.

 

**hello <3**

 

What a fucking bastard.

 

I watched in the mirror with my white and bloody eyes (because oh, it loved blood so much) as my blue skin was marked by black veins, radiating out from my core as It spread through me like a fast moving disease. It was in my blood and taking over my cells. It wouldn't hesitate to drain me, to use everything I had to build itself up. I'd seen the state Billy was in, eyes glazed over, lost in a dream. God knows what he had taught It in their short time together.

 

I watched the black cover me, erasing what used to be Miles Upshur. He was gone. I was the shell now, I was the husk, the host. Looking at the mirror, I was the faceless monster now, my eyes and nose and mouth covered over by fetal skin, replaced instead with a Rorschach mask of ever-shifting features: the morphogenic engine projected onto my skin and burned onto my retinas.

 

And just like that

I was

_voracious,_

 

Starving from the inside out, feeling like my ribcage was going to fold in on itself if I didn't fill my stomach with food. The Walrider could manufacture some things but It was not fully self sufficient, not yet. Human based elements, carbon, calcium and phosphorus. It could recycle used material, if that was any consolation. It fed me this information, a list of set prerequisites that I needed to fill.

 

There was only one way to get human cells into my body.

 

It was trying to take over me, and that was terrifying. I shook my fetus blue body back towards the bed, towards my bible and scotch. To my surprise, my hands found the book first.

 

Psalm 91. That's what I needed.

 

With shaking hands and dwindling time, I threw the cover open, flipping through the pages with with mangled fingers. I'd been raised in faith, and if God was going to save me, He would need a little motivation. I had to find it, maybe it could -

 

The pages were blank.

 

Every page in the bible was

_blank_

 

I screamed as it pulled me away, I was the puppet now and all I needed to do was jump when the strings were pulled. "No, nonono..." I reached for the book but it fell empty to the ground, left to be forgotten.

 

The Walrider was making one thing clear:

 

**no god could help me now**

 

and somehow It overpowered me and I must've blacked out. It was horrible, that feeling of eternal falling, my head ready to burst with the sheer willpower this demon possessed. It was like watching an old black and white movie on reverse, flickering images that I could only half-grasp. It had a way of plugging up all my senses, leaving me in the dark of my own head.

 

It was maddening.

 

And then I was aware of my hands burning, remaining fingers bending the wrong way, burrowing, dirt embedding in the stubs of my fingernails. I was somewhere in a forest, body jerking as the Walrider controlled every motor nerve. I was drooling black acid, burning the corners of my mouth and triggering my gag reflex indefatigably.

 

_It found something._

 

A body, cold and lifeless. From the snippets I could grasp, it had probably been here a little while - there was a bag over the head, probably the result of some murder, the body then dumped shallowly on the edge of town, where the cops wouldn't think to look.

 

All I know for sure was the meat was chewy, so chewy, and the maggots wriggled all the way down my throat.

 

It must've been pretty decomposed because my stomach was trying its damnedest to regurgitate the cold organs, but the Walrider somehow managed to keep everything down. It locked up my throat and let me tell you, there is no worse feeling than a stomach stuffed full of some stranger's entrails

and yet still wanting **more**  


And I only had time to spit a mouthful of blood out before It was leading me away again, and I was stumbling down the streets; It used impulses I knew all too well to take me to a small office building a few blocks away.

 

It blacked me out entirely this time and I was reduced to silent praying in some black corner of my mind: _please god, if you were ever there you better goddamn help me real fuckin' soon, I don't know what I did but I swear I don't deserve this for the love of fuck just kill me..._  


 

And It released It's control so I could experience the joy of devouring another human, my hands buried in a mess of intestines, and I was making these horrible slurping noises. My jaw hurt from behind forced open so wide, but at least this body was warm.

 

But I found the shredded remains of a suit around me, and I was struck with the realization I was crouched in an alleyway tearing the maw out of someone who had been alive very shortly before.

 

I pulled back and wiped my mouth in horror at what I saw.

 

  
_Allen's_ body, throat ripped out by my own teeth, innards spilling onto the concrete, nine characters written in his own blood beside him.

 

**_Goodbye <3_ **

 

I leaned away from him and heaved hysterically, unable to process that my boyfriend, quiet gruff loving Allen, had been torn to pieces and was dead

_because of me_

And his last thought would've been why I was acting so strange, _what's the matter with you, love,_ but it was too late now.

 

With walrider satiated for the time being, I was able to shakily wipe my mouth on my sleeve and spit until most of the taste was off my tongue. No one was safe while I was here.

There had to be some way to control it.

 

I traveled home shaking with the absolute horror. I couldn't get the image of Allen's mangled face out of my head, neck snapped back and ripped open, blood leaking from his mouth and nose. My legs were so unsteady, and the devoured flesh set sickeningly into a cold ball inside of me. If I thought about it too much I would gag and my eyes would water and my throat would close, but my parasite managed to keep everything inside.

 

Back in the apartment, I locked and barricaded the door with a chair, keeping myself _in_ because I knew that when It took control, there was no stopping It. I fumbled my way to the medicine cabinet, the cracked mirror still smirking back at me. I slammed it shut after pulling out the strongest pills I had - oxycontin, something I'd had illegally prescribed but I knew I would need it sometime or another, and the force in which I closed the door caused a shard to shatter onto the ground, spilling liquid quicksilver.

 

The last thing I saw was my face - white and black, sunken in greyed eyes, blood and oil trails from every orifice, teeth bloodstained and tongue thick and loamy with the taste of human still fresh.

 

When I'd gotten my drugs, they'd been very strict - 24 hours between pills.

 

That night, I emptied the container.

 

Counting the swallows, there were about fifty in total.

 

And as my brain shut down, the Walrider couldn't find its control.

**No-Signal(?HELP)**

It was panicking, trying to reverse what It had done and pump out my stomach, but my body was already sluggish and my breaths were slowing to a near comatose state. I wouldn't care if I died (oh god, this being was worse than _death_ ) but that wasn't my absolute goal. If it was, I had the third important item in my bedside table: a revolver, which had before been accompanied by my last drink and my one-way ticket to heaven.

 

I didn't want Murkoff to win. But they hadn't. This didn't mean they'd won.

 

This just meant I was

_free_

 


End file.
